


Under All Those Layers Lies Brilliance

by WindStainedDreams



Series: Like Calls to Like (And Bonds Us All) [8]
Category: The Grisha Trilogy - Leigh Bardugo
Genre: Clothes Kink, Clothing, F/F, Femslash February, Femslash February 2017, Genya's scars, Prompt Fill, Tamar gets obsessed with clothing, Tamar wants everybody, conservative dress, prompt:conservative
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-28
Updated: 2017-02-28
Packaged: 2018-09-27 14:13:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,130
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10024316
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WindStainedDreams/pseuds/WindStainedDreams
Summary: “May I see your face?”Genya blinked and then slowly raised her hands to the long scarf hiding her face from view.  She slowly slid the fabric from her head, exposing the red hair and pale skin that had been so distinctly her.  Those were still there.  There was enough that Tamar could recognize her for who she was supposed to be.





	

 

 

Tamar stared at the figure across from her.  The light from the hearths cast flickering shadows in the already dim underground complex.  The firelight danced over the dark clothing of the woman staring back at her, making her seem like nothing more than a part of the cave walls themselves.  Tamar knew better, but it was still easy to overlook the other woman’s presence.  Only the large space the other Soldat Sol, Priestguards and kitchen workers put between themselves and the ruined Grisha indicated that they were even aware of her at all. 

 

Genya Safin was indeed a mystery.   Tamar had heard about her from Alina and some of the other Grisha that had stayed at the Little Palace.  Heard many a tale about the most beautiful Grisha of them all, how stunning she looked, how well she wore her hair, how her perfect skin shone in any light.  Then the Darkling’s attack on the Little Palace had brought Genya back to them, torn, tattered, a broken doll.  For all the stories Tamar had heard, she could not fathom the beauty Genya had lost.  It was said that it had been her one pride, her one shard of self and the Darkling’s _nichevo’ya_ had stripped it from her in what must have been a terrifying and gruesome attack on the very fundamental aspects of Genya’s identity.    

 

Tamar shuddered at the thought and the woman tilted her head as if studying a specimen in a laboratory.  Genya’s face was still shrouded by her scarf, leaving nothing visible but the reflection of flame in her eye and a pale slice of skin.  It made Tamar uneasy.  She shifted again, felt the stool creak under her restless weight, and forced herself to still.  There was no reason to give in to superstition and fear.  Genya was a friend, an ally, someone they could trust.  There was no need for Tamar to join the rest of the fools who would not interact with a woman who had lost everything just because of a few scars.  Everyone carried scars. 

 

Of course, Tamar, like most of the inhabitants of the White Cathedral, had not actually seen much of the scars marring Genya’s face and body up close.  She had caught a glimpse of them in the small chapel on the palace grounds, had seen the horror on Alina and Zoya’s faces as they struggled with what had happened to their friend.  It hadn’t meant much to Tamar at the time.  It had only been later, once they had settled into life at the White Chapel that Tamar really started to wonder about Genya. 

 

It was why Tamar was here, sitting across a small table in the Kettle, feeling the marginally warmer air wrap itself around her and Genya as they shared a small samovar of tea.  Genya’s glass sat nearly untouched, but Tamar reached for it to add more hot tea anyway.  Genya watched her do it, single eye following the movement.  The impassive gaze was beginning to creep under Tamar’s skin.  There was nothing for it. 

 

“May I see your face?”

 

Genya blinked and then slowly raised her hands to the long scarf hiding her face from view.  She slowly slid the fabric from her head, exposing the red hair and pale skin that had been so distinctly _her_.  Those were still there.  There was enough that Tamar could recognize her for who she was supposed to be. 

 

The scarring truly was horrific. 

 

It was perhaps not as extensive as Tamar had imagined it would be, but the black lines certainly repelled the eye that tried to behold them.  They crawled along her face, spreading out from her eye like a mocking, writhing sunburst.  Tamar traced the lines with her own eyes, taking them in.  This was part of what lay beneath the layers Genya wore.  Tamar knew that very little had actually been revealed to her sight, but it was still more than she’d been offered since their first meeting. 

 

Tamar cursed the Darkling for leaving Genya one eye to see herself with.  Genya’s steady gaze flickered down to Tamar’s white knuckled grip on the glass of tea, and the Shu girl drained it before pouring herself another.  If it was full, she could not throw it as easily as she might be tempted to if it were empty.  The tea also kept her hands occupied on a task that was delicate and gentle, curbing the violence twisting her muscles into knots. 

 

Genya still hadn’t said anything to Tamar, watching her contain her emotions with that one cool eye.  Tamar didn’t know how to begin the conversation.  And so they sat in silence, studying each other, until the Priestguards started rounding people up for the evening prayers.  Before rising from her stool, Genya picked up her black shawl and coiled it around her head once more, leaving nothing but her eye and a small fall of red hair visible as she shuffled out with the rest of the Kettle’s occupants. 

 

*****

 

Tamar found herself thinking of Genya often after their first encounter in the Kettle.  The woman could always be recognized, not for her beauty as before, but the austere way she clothed herself.  Such conservative clothes were rarely seen in the most traditional of widows, and yet Genya wore them as a second skin.  It perplexed Tamar.  She still had a fine figure, and while the scars were daunting there was still beauty beneath.  So why was the other woman so determined to hide it? 

 

Training took up much of the day, but it was rote by now and Tamar could only focus so much attention on the recruits and their missteps.  More and more her thoughts were drawn back to dark fabric hanging off a graceful arm or whispering over stone as booted feet peeked out from beneath the hem with every step.  The bent shoulders, the lowered head, Tamar was taken in by the physicality that lay underneath the black cloth. 

 

Perhaps it was because no other woman Tamar had met dressed like it.  It may have been the rumoured beauty that Tamar had only caught glimpses of as she passed the other woman at morning and evening prayer.  Whatever the pull, Tamar found it near irresistible.  Tolya had taken to teasing her about her fascination when he saw her watching Genya from afar.  Tamar insisted that it was only because she did not understand the choice of clothes Genya wore, but her twin’s needling smile crawled under her skin and wouldn’t leave her alone. 

 

Tamar found herself watching the other woman, trying to find a way to see her without all that cloth in the way.  Tamar wanted desperately to see what was beneath, to see if she could indeed find that beautiful woman hiding behind all the pain.  Maybe then she would understand why she was so perplexed by the clothes Genya wore.  She tried to convince herself it was simple curiosity.  Just a need to know her allies; know their strengths and weaknesses as well as she knew her own.  Tamar kept telling herself that it was merely inquisitiveness as she attempted to find out if Genya joined the other women in the hidden baths in the moments they could sneak off.  She held on to the bald-faced lie with her teeth as she peered into the steaming baths, hoping that perhaps this quieter late-night time would permit her a glimpse of Genya unclothed. 

 

The steam flowed out of the small corridor, showing the way to the baths that were hidden on the outskirts of the White Cathedral.  Few knew of the place, and many of those that had found them kept the secret for themselves.  Tamar fully expected that Genya would be one of the few who knew of them and made use of the private area to bathe without the eyes of everyone in the communal baths closer to the complex.  And unlike those shared baths, this water was actually hot.  It was a luxury Tamar valued.  From her vantage in the corridor, just outside the small pool, she could see that tonight’s venture had been lucky. 

 

Genya stood in the steam, letting it warm her skin as she watched.  The dark clothes were peeling off, layer by layer, first the outer coat, then the dress, the shirt and skirt and leggings.  _How many layers does she even wear?_ Tamar asked herself, mouth dry.  Every time Genya untied another set of laces, undid a row of small little pins, Tamar expected to see skin.  It wasn’t until Genya lifted her shirt that Tamar could see the pale skin marred by crawling darkness.  In the torchlight, it almost appeared as if the scars moved, sinuous as the steam. 

 

“Do you want to see the rest?”

 

Genya’s voice startled Tamar and she jumped, scraping the palm of her hand against the rough stone.  Tamar swallowed as she moved in, suddenly very aware that she had been caught spying.  She was nervous.  She chuckled to herself at the ridiculousness of it all.  All she had wanted was to see the scars, see Genya without all those silly, sober clothes, and here she was, offering her that very thing.  Tamar couldn’t quite believe it. 

 

Genya continued to unlace the last of her undergarments, totally unselfconscious.  It flew in the face of everything Tamar had thought she’d understood about Genya’s reasons for the conservative clothes.  There was no shame, no fear as the redhead removed the last of the clothing, folds leaving marks on her skin that rivaled the scars that would not heal.  Tamar stepped closer still.  Her foot slid on the slick stone and she flung her hands out to stop her fall. 

 

Genya stood close, arms holding Tamar up as she regained her footing.  There was barely any space between them.  Genya’s breath mixed with the steam caressing Tamar’s face and she felt something tighten in her gut.  The warmth spread and she was highly aware that she was still fully clothed while Genya stood naked before her. 

 

Tamar wasn’t sure if her darker skin could show the blush, but judging by Genya’s smirk, it did.  Pale fingers touched the bronze cheeks, tracing the heat Tamar could feel spreading over her cheeks.  She drew in a shaky breath, looking at the other woman’s eye instead of letting her gaze drift down the body that was finally exposed with a force of will even Tolya would be proud of.  The heat from the hot spring continued to spread, but Tamar knew herself well enough to know that it wasn’t just the steam that made her insides twist so pleasantly. 

 

Genya stepped back, lifting her arms and turning carefully to show her entire body, somehow both clinical and sensual in a way that hit Tamar low and made her clench unexpectedly.  Long red hair was pinned up in a way that kept most of it off Genya’s back and neck, but strands were escaping to curl in the humid air.  Tamar wanted to touch. 

 

She had always wanted to touch. 

 

When Genya turned back to face her, eyebrow raised, Tamar stepped back into her personal space, fingers tracing along the scars marring pale shoulders until they reached her hands. 

 

“Tell me to stop.”

 

“No.”

 

Tamar didn’t remember how she came to lose her own clothes, or whether they even made it into the bath until much later, but the steam and the heat between them was slow and easy and coiled and uncoiled like the ribbons of a dancer.  She remembered touching the marks left by the clothing that had driven her mad.  She remembered the feel of the scars under her mouth.  She remembered the feel of hot, slick flesh surrounding her and making her forget everything else. 

 

By the time they slid back out of the hidden baths, fully dressed and bathed, Tamar was rethinking the usefulness of the style of dress that she preferred.  Genya’s clothes at least covered up all the marks.  Tugging up the collar of her shirt, Tamar hoped that the dim light of the subterranean temple complex would be enough to obscure the worst of the bruising.  Well, at least until it healed enough to no longer have obvious teeth marks and let her blame the training.  Then again, there may be more marks to come. 

 

With a sidelong glance at the woman walking beside her, Tamar smirked.  Genya reached over with a smirk of her own to adjust Tamar’s collar once more, fingers lingering on one of the many love bites to decorate Tamar’s bronze skin.  The satisfied air that radiated from Genya lasted only until they came across another person, but Tamar knew it was there.  Under all those damned conservative clothes. 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Femslash February Week 3 - Conservative 
> 
> Catching up slowly, but its the last day. I still have four more of these to write, I hope nobody hates the spam. 
> 
> I love hearing from you all. Please leave your comments here or [ on my Tumblr. ](https://tinbramblearts.tumblr.com)


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